


Morse Code

by cate-lynne (catelynne)



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-09-04
Packaged: 2018-03-26 16:36:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3857563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/catelynne/pseuds/cate-lynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly and Sherlock are expecting.  As it gets closer to the time for their child to come into the world, they start to panic.  Just a bit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Loss for Words

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LibertyMalfoy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertyMalfoy/gifts).



> This is the sequel to Mixed Signals. If you haven’t read it, go and do so, otherwise you will be confused as hell. Also, Mixed Signals was told from Molly’s point of view. This will be from Sherlock’s perspective.  
> I hope you like it, Anna.

Sherlock stood by the window of 221B Baker Street, playing Silent Night on his beloved violin.  Mrs. Hudson sat behind him, talking to John and Mary.  He paid no attention to them or their conversation.  He had more important things to think about.

Across the room and down the hall, Molly stood in the doorway of their bedroom, watching him.  He had been quite happy to move her into his flat.  It was true that she took on some of John’s tasks – keeping him out of “unnecessary danger”, assisting with cases, and (unfortunately) forcing food into him on occasion – but it was so much more than that.  Sherlock _liked_ having her there.  He could make sure that she was safe, at his side.  Sherlock wondered at how much he depended on her well-being, trying to decide if it was good or bad.  He shrugged mentally.  At this point, he didn’t really care.

Over the past week, she had become more and more withdrawn from him.  It happened after the day she came home late.  She had left the flat early on her way to give her notice at work.  She had taken much longer to return than she should have.  Sherlock had paced and thought back to the last time she had taken longer than he had thought she would – she had spent the night with John and then had been attacked on her way home.  But in the end, she was only an hour late.  When she walked in, Sherlock swooped down on her, making sure that she was uninjured.  She had smiled and kissed him on the cheek before retreating to the bathroom.  She was pale and trembling slightly but persisted in her claim that there was nothing wrong.

Since then, she was distant and distracted.  She still wouldn’t tell him what was wrong and he could not deduce it, no matter how hard he tried.  But it was obvious that it had something to do with that extra hour she had been out.  He had thought and thought but couldn’t come up with any reason for her sudden change in behavior.  At least, not one he was willing to entertain.  Had she met someone else? Stopped loving him?  No, it couldn’t be that.

Mycroft arrived, followed by Lestrade a few minutes later.  Sherlock had to roll his eyes.  If those two thought they were fooling anyone, they were sadly mistaken.  He didn’t understand why they cared if anyone knew about their relationship.  Lestrade went to talk to Molly, giving her a hug in greeting.  Sherlock rolled his eyes again.  It seemed that the man had started to think himself as something of a father figure to their small group.  Sherlock didn’t really mind all that much…not that he would ever admit it.

He thought about his gift for Molly, the tiny box hidden in his pocket.  He couldn’t wait to give it to her.  He only hoped that she would like it…

At that moment, Anderson walked in with his strange girlfriend.  They were both seemingly obsessed with Sherlock and did almost anything he asked of them.  That was just fine with Sherlock.  Good minions were so hard to come by these days, as Mycroft had pointed out when he initially complained.  Anderson had greeted Lestrade and the others and was now making a beeline for Sherlock, who sighed and set his violin down.

“Merry Christmas, Sherlock!” Anderson exclaimed and threw his arms around him.  Sherlock froze.  He was being hugged.  By _Anderson_.  Seeing the look on his friend’s face, John intervened quickly.

“It’s time for gifts!” John called and everyone found chairs to perch on in a very loose approximation of a circle.  Sherlock was surprised when Molly picked her way around everyone else to sit directly net to him.  He put a hand over his pocket, ignoring Mrs. Hudson’s exclamations over Molly, to make sure that the little present was still tucked safely away.  He was trying to decide when he wanted to give it to her when suddenly she was thrusting a gift at him.  It was small and wrapped in shiny green and red paper.  He looked up at her, confused.  Did she want him to open it…now?

 “Go on, open it.”  He could see how nervous she was and it was making him apprehensive.

“Now?”

“Now, Sherlock.”  Her tone was so serious, he didn’t question her any further.  He took the little box (it was light and there was no shifting objects inside) and took off the little lid.  He knew that everyone else was watching, but he paid them no mind.  When he saw what in the box, he froze.  He stared at the contents in the box with his mouth open.  He had to blink several times.  Molly was fidgeting and the others were trying to see, but he couldn’t move.

“What?  What is it?” John asked. 

Sherlock couldn’t speak.  He could feel Molly turning to address the entire group.

“I’m pregnant,” she said.

And she was.  There, nestled in the box, was a tiny ultrasound image of a tiny human being.


	2. The Choosing of Names

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock and Molly speculate about the gender of their child and possible names.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I’ve decided that this will be more of a compilation of glimpses into Molly’s pregnancy because I’m not writing [quickly does math] 180 chapters to cover every day of it. So, here are the key moments of the wonderfully confusing times for Molly and Sherlock.

Sherlock lay on his back, staring up at is bedroom ceiling.  Molly was tucked under his arm and tracing patterns on the cloth of the thin t-shirt.  Her legs, clad in pajama shorts, were tangled with his own.  He wished he could feel her skin through the fabric of his pajama pants.  Instead, he contented himself with trailing his fingers up her arm and over shoulder slowly before reversing the action.  The tank top she wore was thin and had tiny holes in some places near the hem.  It was one he had seen her wear so many years ago when he had first stayed the night in her flat.  He felt himself relaxing, comforted by Molly’s familiar touch and the stillness of the world around them.

They had been quiet, listening to each other’s heartbeats and breathing for almost half an hour when Sherlock finally spoke.

“So…I just – well, I was wondering...” he started quietly, hating to break the peaceful silence.

“Yes?” Molly said, just as quietly.  She lifted her head a little bit to look at his face but he avoided her eyes. 

“Which are you hoping for? Boy or girl?”

Molly smiled softly.  It had been a month since she had made her announcement.  They hadn’t really talked about it.  In this context, anyway.  Sherlock hadn’t known what to say.  He had been unsure about tit, about all of it.  How could he be a parent?  Molly would be a wonderful mother; he had no doubt about that.  But he didn’t have the faintest clue about how to raise a child.  And, most importantly, not damage it.  So he had avoided any in depth conversation about the tiny life growing inside of Molly while he tried to battle the doubt swirling around his mind.  But Molly was already four months along.  Time was running short.  It was time to talk.

“A boy,” Molly whispered in answer to his question, laying her head back down on his chest.

Sherlock was surprised.  He had assumed that Molly would want a daughter.  Sherlock did.  Not that he would say it out loud, but he was picturing a little girl with Molly’s eyes and his hair in tiny little ‘Daddy’s Girl’ outfits.  It made him ridiculously happy to think about it, leaving him smiling for no apparent reason at, sometimes, inappropriate moments.  He was quiet for so long, lost in his thoughts about their daughter that Molly had to ask him a question to drag him back to the present from the future.

“What do you want it to be?”

“A girl.”

“Really?”  Sherlock smirked at her surprise and nodded.  “Huh.  I thought you would want a son.  A little mini-Sherlock, running around and blowing stuff up.”

Now that she was saying it, Sherlock could see it.  A tiny replica of himself, but with lighter hair and brown eyes.  He could teach him to play the violin and do tiny experiments.  He could do that with a girl as well, but…

“I’m alright with either,” he admitted, making Molly giggle.  Sherlock could feel it lightly vibrating from her body to his and sighed in content.  That would disappear in a few minutes.

“What about names?”

“Sherlock.”

“No. “  Her reply was swift – she had known what his first pick would be.

“Why not?”

“Because, Sherlock!  What if it’s a girl?”

“Sherlock is a girl’s name.”

“Shut up,” Molly laughed and poked him in the side.  She thought for a minute before adding: “What about William?”

“Why William?” Sherlock asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Technically, it’s your first name,” Molly reminded him as he scoffed. “And my brother’s name was William.”

Sherlock calmed slightly, stroking Molly’s hair comfortingly.  Molly’s twin brother had been killed in a hit and run when they were very young and Sherlock knew how much she still missed him.  He turned his head to press a kiss to her hair.

“William, then, if it’s a boy,” he murmured.  “But what about girls’ names?”

“Hmmm.  What if we named her after your brother?”

Mycroft had become simply unbearable since learning of Molly’s pregnancy.  He was constantly sending Sherlock information about the top-of-the-line baby products that he had been researching or barraging him with tips about how to get baby’s to sleep better at night.  He also dropped by at least once a week to check on Molly.  It was infuriating, really.  He was acting like it was _his_ child!  There was no way Sherlock was naming his daughter after his brother.

“What, Mycrofta? Mycroftette?”  There was so much disgust in his voice that Molly snorted in laughter.  “No.”

“Alright then, smarty-pants.  You come up with one.”

“What about Marie?  Or Emma?”

“Where did you get those from?”

“I don’t know!  I’m just trying to think of something that’s not a girl Mycroft!”

Molly laughed at him and Sherlock had to admit that it was a bit ridiculous.  He laughed with her for a couple of minutes.  When they had calmed down enough to speak again, Sherlock pulled the blankets up around them and pulled Molly a little bit closer.

“We can argue about names in the morning.”

“Yeah...” she yawned. “Do you think he or she will be like you?”

“Like me how?”

“You know.  Crazy smart.  Talented.  Good-looking.”

Sherlock smirked.  “I’d prefer it if they were more like their mother: gentle, kind, fair, intelligent.”

“Mmm, well I think Mycroft will be disappointed if they’re not like you.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the mention of his brother.  “How about a mix of both?”

Molly nodded against his chest and they both drifted off to sleep, thinking about the child that would be arriving in five short months.

…

In a week, they would go to the doctor’s office for a check-up and discover that their child was a boy.  Sherlock held Molly’s hand, staring at the tiny black and white image of his child, feeling an overwhelming sense of pride.  Molly smiled up at Sherlock from the table, cool gel on her stomach and an ultrasound wand revealing that they would not, in fact, be naming their child Myrofta/Mycroftette.  He would be William Mycroft Holmes.


	3. An Influx in Infant Accessories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds himself suddenly surrounded by baby things.

“Molly!” Sherlock called, confusion and slight panic obvious in his voice.  She came rushing into the room as fast as she could, keeping a hand on her stomach.  She stopped when she saw what the problem was and giggled.  Sherlock glared. “This is no laughing matter.”

“Hold on, I’m coming,” she said before picking her way across the room.  Sherlock was on the sofa.  He had just come from his Mind Palace, only to find himself buried in odd objects that he didn’t remember being in his flat when he had gone into his Mind Palace.  He couldn’t even move there were so many of them.  It was quite distressing.

“What is all this?”  He didn’t like not knowing, and the confusion he was experiencing bothered him more than usual.  Perhaps because it was happening in his home, where he was used to being a hundred percent sure what was happening at all times.

Molly bit her lip.  “Mycroft came over while you were…thinking and brought these with him.”

“But what _are_ they?”

“They’re baby things.  For William.”

“What?”

“You know.  Crib, changing station, toys, and…stuff.  I’m honestly not sure what exactly all of it is.  Some of it looks complicated.  He just showed up with them.  I think he’s more excited about this baby than we are, Sherlock.  It’s starting to be alarming.”

Sherlock dismissed everything about Mycroft.  He was well aware of his brother’s eagerness for their child, but he would deal with that later. “But why is it all on me?”

“You wouldn’t move, Sherlock.  And it had to go somewhere.”  She began shifting things, trying to free him from his infant supplies prison.  After a few minutes, he was able to wiggle free.  Standing to survey the room, he took in the piles of stuff.  This would not do.  There was no room for him to see clients or set up his experiments.  He made a mental note to call John and have him come over to help move everything to the upstairs bedroom.  After he spoke to Mycroft.  For the moment, though, he walked up to stand behind Molly, maneuvering his arms around her so that his hands could rest on the bump that was his child growing within her.  For a second, he closed his eyes and let himself relax.  He chose not to think about how different his life was going to be with a child around.  He didn’t think about how absolutely terrified he was of being a parent.  He didn’t think about the tiny box that felt like it was burning a hole in his pocket.

He just stood there, feeling content and safe with the woman he loved relaxing into his arms.

…

A few days later, Sherlock and John had successfully moved all of strange “baby things” upstairs.  It was tedious work, consisting mostly of lifting and John cursing at Sherlock for not warning him about the various obstacles in the flat that made moving the new possessions that much more difficult.  It wasn’t Sherlock’s fault that John failed to notice the potential hazards.  After all, he was a doctor.  And a soldier.  He should know better to be aware of what was around him.  When he mentioned that fact out loud though, John just flipped him off.

Afterwards, Sherlock attempted to reclaim his flat with an explosion of case notes and experiments.  It didn’t work.  He sighed (again) when he found a toy (a plush, blue otter this time) his coat pocket.  He walked over to Molly where she sat reading in John’s old armchair and dropped it into her lap.  She looked up at him with an apologetic expression.

“How is this happening?” he growled.  Despite being locked away upstairs, various child’s toys and…accessories kept finding their way downstairs.  He was finding them everywhere, too.  In the fridge, in the cupboard under the bathroom sink, in between the sofa cushions, and in other unexpected places.    Yesterday he had discovered diapers in his violin case.  It was driving him mad.

“Not sure,” Molly said, frowning at the little toy in her lap.  “But you’ll have to get used to it eventually, though.  When William is born, there’s going to be a lot more of this happening.”

More?  Sherlock didn’t think he could handle _more_.  He would explode or go even crazier than he already felt.  But he didn’t say any of it out loud.  He just huffed, pressed a kiss to the top of Molly’s head, and turned to walk out the door, leaving a very amused Molly behind.


	4. A Visit From the Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft visits Sherlock and Molly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to kathryn_bjordahl_1991 for the suggestion of bringing Mommy Holmes into the mix!

When Sherlock woke up, he knew something was wrong.  There was, as John would put it, a “disturbance in the force”.  In other words, someone was in the flat.  Sitting up, Sherlock first checked on Molly.  She slept soundly and as comfortably as Sherlock supposed a pregnant woman could, a soft smile on her face.  Sherlock smoothed a hand across her hair and ducked in closer to press a tiny kiss to her cheek.  Then he slipped the gun out of its hiding place in his nightstand and stood up.  He pulled a dressing gown on over his t-shirt and pajama pants as he crept out of the room.  As quietly as possible, he snuck towards the person who appeared to making themselves comfortable in his flat (they had made tea – or tried to anyway).  Holding his gun at the ready, Sherlock positioned himself around the corner that hid him from view.  He silently started counting down to his entrance.

_Three…Two...O-_

“Really, Sherlock.  A bit old for hide-and-seek, aren’t we?”

Sherlock nearly choked.  He stormed around the corner to see Mycroft, sitting on the very edge of the sofa, teacup in hand. 

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock demanded. 

Mycroft glanced at him, briefly eyeing the gun that Sherlock was waving around with amusement. “I’ve come to visit my dear brother and his…beloved.  And young Mycroft, of course.”

“ _William_ Mycroft.”

Mycroft waved a hand and looked bored.  “Technicalities.”

“Mycroft,” Sherlock started in a warning tone, but just then, Molly came slowly out of the bedroom.  Her hair was tousled and her stomach was huge under the oversized sweater she wore.

“Sherlock?” she said sleepily.  “What’s going on?”

Sherlock turned and tried to block her view of the sofa. “Nothing.”

She raised an eyebrow.  Sherlock sighed in defeat.

“We are being blessed with a visit from the Queen,” he announced.  Molly’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion and Sherlock had to chuckle.  He took her hand and led her into the other room.  When she saw Mycroft, her expression cleared in understanding before melting into disapproval aimed in Sherlock’s direction.  He shrugged innocently, making a tiny smile appear for a second.

“Mycroft,” she greeted, turning to the elder Holmes, who was suddenly standing in front of her with hand outstretched.  She ignored this and stepped closer to enfold him in a careful hug, being careful of the small human between them.  Sherlock grinned, watching his older brother squirm under the physical contact.  She stepped back after a few seconds and Sherlock could see the relief on Mycroft’s face.

“Molly,” Mycroft returned, stepping back so that there was even more distance between the two of them.

“Is there something we can do for you or..?” she inquired.

“No, this is purely a social calling.  I had wondered about your plans, actually.”

“Plans for what?” Sherlock nearly growled.

“Molly is nearly six months along, brother mine.   Do you have _plans_ for when she goes into labor?”

“Um…” Sherlock and Molly looked at each other.

“I thought not.”  From seemingly nowhere, he suddenly revealed several packets of paper.  “I have outlined a preliminary plan, along with several back-up plans accounting for any foreseeable problems.  If you’ll turn to the second to last page, I’ve assembled a list of items that should be prepared and packed into bags to take to the hospital…”

Stunned and a little overwhelmed, Sherlock and Molly sat and listened to an extensive, detailed “overview” of the packets that they held.  For three hours.

…

When Mycroft ha finished, Sherlock shepherded them out the door as quickly as possible.  When he returned, it was only to see that Molly had curled up on the sofa and was quickly falling asleep.  Smiling slightly, Sherlock prodded her to her feet and guided her back to the bedroom, where they both fell asleep within minutes.

…

A few days later, Sherlock found Molly sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through one of Mycroft’s packets.  Sherlock waited, knowing what was coming.

“Sherlock,” she started, looking up at him.  “Some of this will be actually helpful.”

“I concur,” he said shortly.  He had reached the conclusion day ago.  He hadn’t mentioned it, only because he hated to agree with his brother on anything.

“You do?” Molly looked surprised.  “Well…”

Sherlock stayed silent.  Molly was about to say something else when her phone rang.  Looking surprised, she flipped it over to read the caller I.D. before hurriedly pressing ‘Accept’.

“Hello?”

Sherlock waited, wondering idly who she was talking to.

“Yes, it’s so good to hear from you, Mrs. Holmes.”

Ah, so it was Mother…wait, Mother?  Sherlock whipped his head around to watch Molly.

“I – yes.  It’s been rather difficult, but…” A smile stole over her face and Sherlock was instantly suspicious.  “Yes, that would be… _most_ helpful.”

Molly grinned when Sherlock narrowed his eyes at her before she stood up to go into the other room.

“You are the most qualified person.  And I would really appreciate it.  It seems I’ll have three of them soon.”

Three of what?  And what on earth was Mother qualified for?  Sherlock crept after Molly, trying to remain within hearing range.  The next words he heard, though, were anything but comforting.

“A Guide to Living with and Raising Holmes Boys.  That sounds about right…”

Sherlock had heard enough.  He stomped into the living room and took the phone right out of Molly’s hand.  She laughed, trying to take it back, but her arms were too short.

“Thank you for calling, Mother.  Goodbye.”  And he hung up.

“Sherlock!” Molly gasped between fits of laughter.

He didn’t answer, just walked back to the kitchen, phone still in hand.

…

Though he did his best to stop her, Molly still talked to his mother.  Sherlock would walk past the bedroom door and hear laughing.  When he paused to listen, it would become apparent who Molly was talking to and what about.  It was almost as infuriating as the magically appearing toys.  Which, by the way, had started showing up more and more.  Two days, he woke up to find a small pile of them on his chest.  Yesterday, he had found one stuffed in his shampoo bottle.  That morning, he had discovered six of them, all smiling up at him from the inside of his shoes.  It was taking all of his self-control not to take the lot and burn them.  He couldn’t help but notice that Molly wasn’t getting any surprise toy visits.  He resolved to stay up and discover the culprit.  The toys weren’t moving by themselves, afterall.  That was impossible, not matter what the ridiculous Disney movie tricked children into thinking.

So while, Molly was learning from his mother what it was like to live with little Holmes’, Sherlock was planning and setting a trap for the toys…and whoever it was that was making him slowly lose his mind.


	5. Dead or Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Toy Culprit is caught.

‘Twas the middle of the night, and all through the flat, not a creature was stirring…scratch that.

Sherlock had taken up his hiding place hours ago, perched (somehow) on top of a bookcase.  When Molly had seen him, she had opened her mouth to protest before changing her mind and heading to bed.  Sherlock would not be dissuaded from his plan, even she could see that.  The toys…God, the toys.  They were taking over his life.  And he was going to get to the bottom of this mystery…even if it irreparably damaged his back.

It was nearing three in the morning when it happened.  Sherlock had started dozing some time ago.  Suddenly, a creak from upstairs made Sherlock perk up, almost hitting his head on the ceiling.  When there was no other sound or movement, Sherlock grumbled.  Perhaps this was a waste of his time…

Half an hour later, just when Sherlock was getting ready to call it quits and climb down from him cramped perch, a figure entered the room.  It was slight, and though the room was too dark to see the face, familiar.  The figure moved silently, putting toys in random places.  Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  Who was it?  The intruder was coming from the kitchen (where it had put toys under all the teacups) into the sitting room.  He stood under the bookshelf, tucking a couple of smaller toys in between and behind books.

Suddenly, letting out a battle cry, Sherlock dropped down onto the strangers.  They went down, almost pulling the bookshelf on top of themselves.  With books falling all around and the Toy Culprit struggling frantically to get free, Sherlock let out a yell.

“Molly!”

She appeared a few seconds later, eyes wide and a look of alarm on her face.  She reached over and flicked on a light, illuminating the stranger sprawled beneath Sherlock.  His jeans obviously hadn’t been washed in a few days and his t-shirt was wrinkled.  His hair was disheveled and he was in need of a shave.  But it wasn’t hard to recognize him.

“Did you miss me?”

…

“Oh my God,” Molly shrieked.

Sherlock sat back in shock.  James Moriarty was smiling sweetly up at him from his position on the floor, clearly enjoying their reaction.  Sherlock shook his head to focus and spoke to Molly without taking his eyes off of the consulting criminal on his floor.

“Call Mycroft.”

Molly immediately scurried into the bedroom to get her phone.  Moriarty smirked, watching her go.

“Ooh, you’ve got her very well trained, haven’t you?”

“Shut up,” Sherlock growled.  “Before I shoot you.”

“Honestly, do you think that will work?  Second times’ the charm, I suppose…”

“What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?  I’m hiding little toys around your flat.”

“But _why_?”

Molly came warily back into the room just then.  “Mycroft is on his way.”

Sherlock nodded and the trio lapsed into silence, waiting for the elder Mr. Holmes to come and collect James Moriarty, consulting criminal and Toy Culprit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hahahaha, I couldn't help myself. In other news, I'm now on tumblr! *faint, half-hearted cherring* Yay, another place to lose myself in all things...not what I should be doing. Come check it out! Or say hi. Or something.


	6. Books That Have All the Answers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock stars memorizing parenting books.

Molly groaned, rolling towards him.  He could feel her watching him, but he didn’t take his eyes off of the book in his hand.  After a few minutes, she spoke.

“Sherlock?”

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Reading what?”

“…”

She immediately shot her arm out to snatch the book away.  Sherlock thought about taking it back, throwing himself on top of her arm, something, but decided against it – it was too late anyway.  she was turning it over to read the title.  He looked away.

“’ _How to Help Your Child Grow Up Smart_ ’?”   she looked at him.  “You’re reading a parenting book?”

He glanced at the floor beside the bed, trying to decide if he should mention the thirty other books about raising a child and surviving the ordeal.  Again, Molly didn’t give him a choice.  She followed his gaze, pulling herself up and leaning over to see what he was looking at.

“What in the world?”

She looked at him, apparently concerned.  He chose to observe the ceiling while h talked.

“I’m not…I have absolutely no idea what to do.”  Silence.  “I am terrified of being a parent.  What if I accidentally kill it?”

“First of all,” she said, scooting forward to place a hand on his cheek. “William.  Not ‘it’.  Secondly.  You won’t kill him.  And you’re not doing this alone.  I’ll be here and John and Mary will help and God knows Mycroft won’t let anything happen to him.  We’ll be fine.”

Sherlock huffed before picking up another book and beginning the tedious task of committing it to memory.


	7. Renewed Appreciation for the Female Gender

The 3 A.M. darkness outside of the widows of 221B Baker Street was nothing new to Sherlock.  The dark had been his companion for as long as he could remember: in hiding places, the dim back hallways where he got his cocaine, the deep night sky during long hours spent on experiments.  So, no, the dark was no stranger.

Neither was the flat around him.  Granted, there were some of Molly’s sweaters strewn around the place instead of John’s, and some of his technical books had been buried under the parenting books he had bought.  His beakers and experiments were confined to the kitchen and Molly had very thoroughly purged the flat of any cigarettes.  It was a little different to what Sherlock would have preferred, but still, it was his flat.

The silence wasn’t foreign either.  It often came with the darkness, taking the place of first John and now Molly as they slept soundly in bed.  As a person whose mind was so high-functioning, he welcomes the reprieve from the constant effort of filtering out the witless babble that ordinary people constantly barraged him with.  Silence was his escape.

The problem, the question, the troubling matter at hand, was a small velvet box, clutched between his long fingers, turning over and over as he thought.  Inside, nestled in layers of satin, was a ring, large and beautifully cut.  Sherlock had posed himself a fairly intimidating question: how to do it?  He didn’t want to fumble his way through it as John had.  Molly deserved something special, a perfect moment that would forever be branded into her mind, just as the ring on her finger would forever show her as belonging with Sherlock.

A sudden cry from the bedroom pulled Sherlock from his thoughts.

“Molly?” he called, striding quickly down the hallway towards his (hopefully) future wife.  “Are you-?”

Another cry cut him off and he burst into the bedroom.  Molly was curled around herself, face shining with sweat and contorted in pain.  Sherlock rushed forward and dropped to his knees beside her.

“What is it? Molly, look at me.  What do I do?”

“The baby…” she gasped.  “William…”

Sherlock stared, not quite comprehending, or not really wanting to.

“The baby is coming!” she said more clearly, making Sherlock jump at her sudden increase in volume.

“Now?” he said, in shock.

“NOW!”

…

At the hospital, John and Mary waited anxiously for news.  It was hours five of labor and both of them had sympathy for the pain Molly must be in, John as a doctor and Mary as…well, a woman.  Mary sat, hands tucked neatly around her own growing stomach, watching John pace.  He made a straight line between a support pillar in the center of the room to Mary’s chair.  He looked very much the military man he was, turning sharply on his heel and his hands clasped behind his back.  He was driving Mary nuts.

“John…” she said, about to tell him to just sit down, when the doors burst open and a very angry Mycroft Holmes made his entrance.

“Why wasn’t I informed that Molly was in labor?” he demanded, looking as if he were attempting to breathe fire on them.  John and Mary glanced at each other.  “Mycroft is my nephew!”

“ _William_ Mycroft,” the Watsons said at the same time.

“Technicalities,” Mycroft spat, rolling his eyes.

They spent the next few hours trying to calm Mycroft down, convincing him that yes, they were sure Molly was as comfortable as was actually possible for a woman in labor and no, they hadn’t had any news and no, absolutely not, it wouldn’t be right to threaten one of the nurses for information.

A few hours later, Sherlock came stumbling out, pale and obviously traumatized, but smiling none the less.  Mary, John, and Mycroft all hurried forward to intercept him.

“She did it,” Sherlock confirmed.  “William Mycroft Holmes, born 11 A.M., eight pounds and seven ounces.”

A small cheer went up from the group and they all followed the younger Mr. Holmes to see the newest Holmes.

…

Molly looked terrible, but that was to be expected, Sherlock supposed.  She was sitting up in the bed, which someone had tilted so that she had some support behind her.  In her arms was a tiny blue bundle, which Sherlock knew in his mind and felt in his heart was their son.  He had already held him, a moment that he would never forget.  The baby’s eyes were still blue, of course, but he had fine, wispy little strands of black hair on his head.  His wrinkled fingers and toes were so small, it was astonishing.  Sherlock had forgotten that humans could be so small and fragile.  It just wasn’t part of his experience with them.  Sherlock had held him carefully, still not entirely sure he was cut out for the title Parent.

Sherlock watched from Mycroft’s side as John and Mary leaned forward to see the small human.  Soon, Molly was passing William off to John, a look of intense happiness on her face.  Sherlock felt the smile pulling at his lips as he watched the joy blooming across his Molly’s face.  He could feel Mycroft’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. 

“John, Mary,” Molly started, glancing at Sherlock to make sure he was alright with this.  He nodded.  “We want you two to be the godparents.”

“Really?” Mary gushed, while John grinned and nodded.

“Of course.”

Molly was happy, John and Mary were grinning, and even Mycroft had a tiny smile on his face.

It was a perfect moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sorry I haven't posted in so long! Only one more chapter left, so comment to let me know what you want to see!


	8. One Big Happy Family

Sherlock stared down at the tiny human in his arms.  Molly had mentioned something about “needing a minute” and had put the baby in his arm without warning, only to disappear into the bathroom for a few minutes.  William slept quietly, making contented little humming noises every once in a while, the very picture of peace.

Sherlock was panicking.

The longer this…child was in 221B, the more sure Sherlock was that something was going to happen to him.  He had already been there a week!  Something had to be done, something like…

At that moment, Molly cane back into the room, smiling a little as she recognized the turmoil that was going on inside of Sherlock’s head.  She took the baby from him and gently lay him in the crib in the corner, tucking the blanket around him and making sure he was comfortable.  Then she came back to Sherlock, sitting next to him and looking him in the eye.

“What’s wrong?”

Sherlock tried not to.  It wasn’t what he wanted, how he had pictured doing it, but –

“Will you marry me?”

He slipped the tiny box out of his pocket, finally, and presented it to a shocked Molly.  When she didn’t say anything, he blurted out more words that he hadn’t meant to.  What was going on?

“We can get a house, or a cottage, out in the country and raise William there.  I’ll only take cases here so he’ll be safe, no experiments at the house.  And he can have room to run around and be happy.  And John and Mary can come and visit with their daughter and I suppose that Mycroft will show up eventually, whether we want him to or not…” It was at that moment that Sherlock saw the tear running down Molly’s face. “Or not.  We don’t have to.  If you don’t’ want to…I just thought that, well, with William.  And I love you.  I’ve been wanting to ask you since before you told me you were pregnant but if it’s not what you want-”

He was cut off by Molly’s lips suddenly pressing against his.  He could feel her tears on his cheeks and her breath on his mouth when she pulled away to whisper one word:

“Yes.”

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, kittens!


End file.
